Au Courant
by proflig8
Summary: Malfoy loses his memory, and Hermione is obligated to help him.
1. Chapter 1

**Au Courant**

_Chapter One_

Diagon Alley.

To some, it was dirty, dreary, and not all it cropped up to be. Hermione found it beautiful.

Her eyes scanned the signs that hadn't changed since her sixth year at Hogwarts. Diagon Alley was so wonderfully static. It had only been damaged slightly during the war. However, three years later, you'd never be able to tell. Hermione certainly couldn't.

As she made her way down to the brick wall that would take her back to the Leaky Cauldron, she kept her neck twisted to the side to view all that the windows had to offer. Halting suddenly, she remembered: George! She had to visit him before she left.

Turning sharply on her heel, she scurried off, clutching her messenger back tightly so it wouldn't flop around as she ran (or hobbled, seeing as she was wearing heels). The last thing she needed was all of her papers and books flying out.

Hermione Granger was now _Professor_ Granger at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. McGonagall had taken the position of Headmistress, and as the task of balancing teaching Transfiguration and the duty of Headmistress became more cumbersome, she knew she had to give up the spot. There weren't many options in her mind as who she should give the position to—she knew that Hermione Granger had been applying for jobs and would be more than willing to teach.

The witch had been McGonagall's prodigy throughout the years. There were times when she felt like her daughter, seeing as she never had any children of her own.

There wasn't any hesitation when Hermione accepted the position, wide-eyed and clutching the parchment as if she was holding onto it for dear life. That night, she had met up with Ron and Harry and went out to eat and dance. It had been a wonderful day.

Now, with three years of teaching under her belt, she had plans to go back to her flat in the Muggle world for the summer.

On her way to George's shop, she ran into Lavender Brown.

"Hermione!" she squealed, pulling the professor into a hug immediately. "I haven't seen you since... since... Wow, I heard about you becoming a professor. That's wicked, love. I never doubted for a moment that you wouldn't."

Hermione caught the hesitation to mention the war. Lavender had been saved by Hermione, though they never spoke a word about it. Fenrir Greyback had severely injured her—and, like Bill Weasley, she had escaped with only side effects of werewolves.

She glanced at the sky briefly and remembered that the full moon was about a week ago, meaning that Lavender was probably at the peak of contentment.

Smiling and switching her eyes back to Lavender's, she dropped her hands from the hug and said, "Thank you. Are you doing well yourself, then?"

"I am." Suddenly, her grin was lit up ten-fold. She placed a hand on her tummy, and Hermione caught the implication immediately, gasping before Lavender could even let out, "I'm-"

"Oh, Lavender, that's wonderful!" She took the other woman's hands and squeezed them. "You'll have to let me throw you a shower."

Lavender looked bashful. "Seamus nearly had a heart attack-"

_**BOOM!**_

The women jumped simultaneously, ripping their hands away from each other to place on their hearts instead. A few others around them elicited screams of surprise. Everyone snapped their gaze to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Upon knowing that it came from George's shop, Hermione was slightly relieved. Awful explosions were commonplace for him.

"I was just headed over there, actually. Good thing I ran into you," Hermione said, chuckling. "But I better go check it out to see George didn't damage anyone too badly."

Lavender nodded and gave Hermione another hug. "Owl me."

With that, Hermione was by herself once more. She readjusted her messenger bag and scurried over to George's shop, fully expecting the place to be on fire.

While it wasn't on fire, it sure as hell as _smoky_. She barely got a whiff when the doors opened before George was pushing her out, hands locked on her shoulders. "Hermione! It's you!" he said, seeming to half-forget what was going on while he was caught up in a reunion.

"What's going on?" she cried, exasperated.

"Just an explosion, nothing to worry about, happens all the time." Hermione's glare sent daggers after him, and he dropped his hands from her. "Well, the gas can't be inhaled. Not unless you want to forget who you are."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Hermione tilted her head, and muttered, "Memory loss?"

"Luckily there were no customers in there. We open officially in," he looked at the clock tower in the distance, "two minutes." Then, he amended, "Well, there was someone else in there, but I don't think I'd dub him as a customer. Bloody thief."

"Thief? Someone was stealing?"

George nodded. "That's right, Professor Twenty-Questions. Ferret must not have realized we set hexes for anyone who dared."

_We?_ He kept using 'we'. "Er, George, have you an assistant now?"

He looked at her strangely. "No, why?"

She decided to drop it. George must have been in the habit of saying 'we' because of his late twin, and Hermione wasn't about to bring it up again. George seemed to be doing splendidly now that he had time to heal.

Suddenly, her mind was reeling. She thought of what he said a few seconds ago. "Wait a minute! _Ferret?_ You don't mean-"

"Draco Malfoy. Yeah," he said, a smug grin plastered to his face, "caught red-handed. He was trying to steal something. Didn't really see what it was, since the smoke was too thick and all. Really thick, now that I think about it." He brought a hand up to his chin and seemed to be contemplating something.

Hermione was stunned senseless. Malfoy had been stealing? At George's shop, no less! Why on Earth would he need to steal when he had an inheritance at his feet?

"A-And," she began, still shocked beyond belief, "you're telling me that he's in there right now, inhaling that memory-loss gas—which you just said might be _too thick_?" Her voice was somewhat screechy, and in that moment, George was reminded of his mother.

Slightly intimidated, he backed away, raising his hands in defense. "All right, so maybe there were a few flaws in the development. I hadn't really tested it before. But hey!" he added, seeing the anger rise in Hermione's eyes, "who could be a better beta tester than Malfoy!

"George!" she yelled, exploding. "You _do_ realize who his parents are? If he's lost more memory than you accounted for, he could be permanently damaged! Do you think for a moment that they wouldn't sue you for everything you own?"

She pushed past him, wand withdrawn, and opened the doors. "_Whirlwindo!_"

George let the last wisps of gas float outside and disintegrate into the air, officially harmless. He walked in after her. "Come off it, Hermione. His daddy's in jail and his mum's confined to the manor under some severe probation. I'm sure his inheritance is on lock down as well, if not lost altogether." He put his hands in his pockets.

Hermione stared down at Malfoy's unconscious form. He barely passed for a ghost of his former self.

The blond hair was unmistakeable, but the rest of him was... well, dirty. His eyes had dark circles underneath them, his face more hollow and narrower than she'd ever seen it. Aside from that, his skin was almost white, which contrasted with his collared shirt that might have, at one time or another, been white.

Though he appeared to be wearing the remains of a suit (a rather expensive one, at that), she had a dark feeling that it had been the _only_ thing he's worn for quite some time.

She knelt down in front of him just as she heard George mutter, "They're not really supposed to fall unconscious."

Reaching out, she tilted his face so that it wasn't pressed against the ground. She lightly shook his shoulder. "Malfoy, get up," she ordered. She couldn't describe the apprehensive bubbling in her stomach. She felt his pockets for his wand, and to her surprise, found nothing but lint and a few pieces of scrap paper that she didn't bother looking at.

Suddenly, Malfoy let out a gasp and inhaled sharply as if his throat burned. He clutched his throat and writhed for a moment before the pain subsided.

Startled, Hermione pulled away and sat kneeling a safe distance away from him.

He seemed to have worked out the pain, glanced down at himself, at his surroundings, George, and lastly, Hermione.

There was no recognition in his eyes.

"Hello," he said.

And that was it. One word—a word that, seeing this was _Malfoy,_ should have been _Mudblood_ or _Granger—_told her everything she needed to know: Draco Malfoy had lost his memory.


	2. Chapter 2

**Au Courant**

_Chapter Two_

_Stay calm_, Hermione thought, feeling anything _but_ calm.

She looked at Malfoy and opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.

"Wait, where the hell am I?" he hissed. Relief flooded through Hermione. Maybe he didn't lose all of his memory after all! But as she studied him longer, there was a bit of emptiness in his eyes. He looked... clueless. It reminded her of seeing Gilderoy Lockhart after he cast that memory-loss spell on himself.

"Odd place," Draco commented again, standing up and dusting his clothes off. His nose wrinkled in disgust when he gazed at what he was wearing. "What on _Earth_ am I-?"

He looked at Hermione, who was still kneeling on the floor, speechless. He held out his hand for her, and she stared at it as if he sneezed on it. For a split second she considered taking it, but she shook her head instead and hastily scrambled up, messenger bag whacking her thigh uncomfortably.

"George," she whimpered, "what's going on?"

"He's still very Malfoy-like," George assessed, crossing his arms and finally coming closer. He leaned toward Malfoy to look him in the eyes. "But I don't think he's all there."

"Malfoy!" the blond chorused, snapping his fingers. He pointed toward George. "That's my name, isn't it? My surname, at least. I'm a Malfoy," he asserted proudly.

Cautiously, Hermione asked, "What else can you tell me about yourself?"

"I'm rich," he said, and then looked down at his clothes. "Well, it doesn't _look_ like I am at the moment, but I swear I am. I'm an only child. I'm twenty, nearly twenty-one. First name's Draco."

There was a long, deafening pause. He suddenly looked pained—and then panicked.

"Wait a minute, why can't I remember anything else? Where are we? What's _that_?" he demanded, pointing to Hermione's wand. She held it close to her chest when he stepped closer to her.

George interfered at that moment, holding out his arm in front of Hermione. "Easy there, mate. You've just been in an accident. 'Fraid you lost your memory. Luckily you're not totally brainless—well, any less than you already were." He snickered, and Hermione gave him a withering look. "She agrees with me, don't mind her."

"How did I lose my memory?"

"You tried stealing from this store," George continued. "_My_ store."

Malfoy looked affronted. "Malfoys don't _steal_!"

"Yeah, well, this one does. Look, you trying to steal set off one of my hexes. Turns out the hex was a bit too strong, and you were left in here for quite some time..." George had the grace to look sheepish.

Hermione, who still found the entire situation surreal, glanced back at the front doors. There were several kids outside, pressing their faces against the glass and whining about how they wanted to go in and buy whatever gadget or trick was on the shelves. _That's right_, she thought, _George said he was just opening_.

"George," Hermione said, "I think I should take him to St. Mungo's." That's where Lockhart had gone, after all. "You need to open soon." She inclined her head toward the doors.

He looked at her. "You sure?"

"It's not a problem at all."

George looked relieved that he didn't have to deal with the repercussions of the hex just yet. He nodded to her. "There's a back door that leads to an alley. Apparate there, it's less busy than out front."

"Okay. See you later, George."

Hermione looked back at Malfoy, who was examining his clothing disdainfully.

"Follow me, Malfoy," she said curtly. The blond had no choice but to follow without much of a mind to decide what the best course of action was.

The witch stepped outside, closing her eyes briefly. With any luck, she'd be able to drop him off at St. Mungo's and go on with her summer. Malfoy tapped on her shoulder, asking, "Where are we going? And what's your name, by the way?"

"St. Mungo's," she replied. His face showed no sign of recognition. "My name's Hermione Granger."

"All right, Hermione. Nice to meet you."

She didn't bother correcting him. Instead, she grabbed his arm and concentrated hard on the location of St. Mungo's. A half-second of twisting suffocation later, they were in front of the building. Hermione straightened her skirt and swept a lock of her hair behind her ear, while Malfoy was heaving on the ground. Clearly, he hadn't expected the Apparition.

"Get up," she said, taking his hand and none-too-gently helping him steady. Dropping his hand as if it burned, she marched onward.

Inside, there was a calmness that Hermione appreciated. A friendly healer was speaking with a family, delivering lovely news about how their son had only sustained minor injuries; the service desk had a blissfully short line; soft music played in the background.

She approached the counter. "Hello, I have a..." Her voice trailed off meekly. What did she say? _I have a mortal enemy with me who's off his rocker, can you help him?_ Swallowing, she lied, "a _friend_ here that was caught in a memory-loss incident."

"Cause?" the older woman asked.

"A hex."

"Substance?"

"Gas."

"Exposure time?"

"Five minutes, I believe?"

The woman glanced at the blond, a little skeptical. It almost looked as if she had sworn she'd seen him somewhere, but couldn't quite place her finger on it. Meanwhile, Malfoy was staring off curiously at the people around him. "And how much does he remember?"

"He knows the basics, such as his name and age," Hermione explained, glancing at Malfoy, "but I don't think he remembers any of his actions or the people he's met."

Nodding along, the woman pulled out a clipboard and grabbed a quill. "What's his name?"

Hermione bit her lip. Then, "Draco Malfoy."

She ceased her movements, and then set the quill down. From what Hermione could tell, it looked like she didn't write anything down. "Dear, you do realize the connotations behind his name, don't you?"

"Well, I thought-"

"His family has no medical insurance. And even so, we're run by half-bloods. They've never been here before to set up any sort of financial plan. As far as I've read, they _have _no finances. Oh, sorry, _she _doesn't." Hermione found it slightly disturbing that the woman sounded so pleased about it all. "The man's dead, isn't he? And they won't allow the boy to see his mum."

Letting this all sink in, Hermione shook her head. "So, you're saying-"

"It's not an emergency, so we can't provide anything for him."

"What if I were to pay?" she blurted out, suddenly feeling as if she had to defy the woman behind the counter. She was being rude! Hermione was one of the first on the list that hated Malfoy and everything his family stood for, but Malfoy had been stealing to get by; he'd been impaired. She was practically suggesting he live on the streets with no recollection of anything!

"For a check-up?"

"Yes. At least to see just how bad it's affected him."

The woman pursed her lips as if she didn't understand why Hermione was bothering to help. The witch stood defiantly with her arms crossed. She relented. "All right, dear. Sign your name and someone will be with you shortly."

Hermione picked up the quill and signed her name with a flourish, dropped the quill, and went to go sit down. Malfoy trailed after her silently.

He sat down next to her and asked, "Was all of that true?"

"All of what true?"

"My father's dead, and I'm banned from seeing my mum? And I've got no money to my name?"

Feeling a small amount of pity, if only because of the hopelessness in his voice, she answered, "Yes."

Malfoy went silent again, examining the dirt under his nails in what looked like deep thought. Hermione bit her lip and wondered if they would let Malfoy live at St. Mungo's full time if his memory was deemed never to return. In all honestly, she was hoping there would simply be a potion or spell to reverse the affects.

"Do I have a home?"

He wasn't looking at her when she glanced at him. "No."

"Oh."

_Damn it all_, she thought, _I'm not supposed to feel bad for him. He deserves this, doesn't he? After all he's done?_

It was hard to be confident in that thought when he looked so pitiful.

After a few more moments of awkward silence, a healer came down by the name of Fink. His brown, comb-over hair style reminded Hermione of her dad, and his glasses somewhat resembled Harry's. He had freckles and bright blue eyes that twinkled with something that told Hermione he loved his job.

"Come with me, please," he started kindly. Hermione and Malfoy got up to follow him to the elevator. "Belinda relayed to me what you told her. I'm going to ask a few more questions and see if I can look up a spell to reverse the affects."

Hermione looked tremendously relieved. As they exited the elevator, they turned at the first door on the left to a small room with a check-up table and a few chairs pushed up against the wall.

"Have a seat," he said to Hermione, gesturing to the chairs. "And if you could sit up here, Mr. Malfoy?" He did the same to the table.

The witch wondered briefly if it bothered Fink that he was examining an ex-Death Eater.

Fink proceeded to ask Malfoy more questions. Some of them were more challenging and detailed, such as, "How did you spend your summer? What house were you sorted into at Hogwarts?" Malfoy asked what Hogwarts was, and Fink took down a few notes. Then, he brought up more sensitive questions. "Do you remember serving You-Know-Who?"

Hermione said, "You mean Voldemort?"

And the healer glanced at her with a note of agitation in his eyes. Clearly, he wasn't over the war just yet, and Hermione bowed her head to show she wouldn't say it again.

Malfoy could answer questions about his personality ("If someone said this to you, what would you do?"), but when it came to actions and remembering people (aside from his family), his mind was dreadfully blank.

Fink examined Malfoy's eyes and reflexes, finding everything to be in order. He turned to Hermione. "And you said this was the result of a spell?"

She blinked. "A hex, but the result was gas. He inhaled a lot of it for about five minutes."

His expression changed. "Oh. That's different, then. I'm afraid this type of memory-loss can't be healed with the same therapy most of our patients endure, or a counter-spell." Hermione's face fell, and he added, "But I wouldn't worry. He's very lucky to remember personal details about himself. All he needs is time to recollect everything. I can't say how long the process will take, but I can assure you, it's not as bad as it looks."

Malfoy looked relieved, but Hermione was skeptical. "So you're saying the affects of the gas will wear off?"

"Precisely. Mr. Malfoy, you can step down now. Also, I suggest you recount a lot of what he's experienced. Tell him about his past—it'll kick start more memories and lead to recovery." Fink opened the door for them. "If you'd like, you can check in periodically and I can give him another examination, but I doubt you'll need to. He'll be fine," he added, misinterpreting her expression as remorse.

"Well... thank you, then." _I suppose. Fat lot of good that did me. If he can't stay here, where's he supposed to go?_ she thought, biting her lip.

As they descended to the first floor and headed to the exit, Malfoy asked, "Wait a minute. Hermione, where exactly am I supposed to go?" he asked, nearly voicing her thoughts exactly.

As if she'd been holding her breath, she let out a long sigh. "I suppose you can stay with me. I live alone in a flat in the Muggle world." She waited for how he'd react to hearing anything _Muggle_ related, but he didn't so much as flinch.

Then, he said, "We must have been good friends."

"... What?"

"For you to do this," he drawled, his tone giving off a _duh_ vibe. Very Malfoy-like. "You've taken me to the hospital and now you're going to let me live with you until I'm healed? You certainly wouldn't be doing this if we were enemies."

Oh, the irony. A pained smile on her face, Hermione took his arm to prepare for Apparition and said, "Yes, you're absolutely right."

So what if she wasn't honest about their relationship? It couldn't hurt if he was civil to her for once.


End file.
